


aND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

by jasmiinitee



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M, Slice of Life, borrowing your boyfriends clothes is always cute ok, i mean you can read it as just guys being dudes but they're actually like married or whatever, just chatting and kinda cuddling, open your minds and your inner third eyes and let jim and morse into your hearts, they were roommates, this is for u ange i need more of these idiots ok everyone please, tired groggy banter, yeah actually sickfics are where it's at, you wont regret it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-11-02 07:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmiinitee/pseuds/jasmiinitee
Summary: Morse catches a cold, but luckily Jim has a lot of warm jumpers.





	aND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iloveyoudie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/gifts).

‘That’s certainly not yours.’ Jim stopped squinting at his magazine, and gave Morse a long look over it. Morse drew the thick dark cardigan tighter around himself, though it did nothing for how ill-fitting it was on his shorter, thinner frame. He’d turned the sleeves once to keep them in place over his shirt cuffs.

‘I was feeling cold,’ he said and shrugged slowly, looking around in the lost manner of someone who’d just forgotten why they walked into the room. He looked down at his sleeves for a moment, pondering them in a haze, before crossing his arms tightly.

‘You’re looking a little off.’

‘I’m fine,’ Morse said.

Jim frowned a bit and closed the spread on Spanish recipes. ‘Not getting ill, are we?’ he asked. 

‘No.’ 

‘You sure, mate? All red and white in the face. You don’t feel feverish?’

‘Absolutely certain.’ Morse shook his head gently, but his look was sharp. 

Jim eyed him doubtfully for a minute, but gave up and spread his hands. ‘All right. But don’t tell me I didn’t see it coming when it strikes. You’re not looking that smart.’

Morse rolled his eyes. ‘Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.’

He walked over to the couch and sat down beside Jim, melting slowly and heavily into the cushions. One at a time he lifted both of his legs on Jim’s lap, dripping bonelessly down the length of the sofa, and leaned his head back against the armrest. He closed his eyes and snuggled tighter into the stolen jumper. 

Jim held his magazine up to keep it from getting kicked into pieces, until Morse settled down. He gave Morse a disapproving look, and let out a long breath, but Morse showed no sign of understanding what such a huff substituted for. So, Jim laid his arms back down, onto Morse’s legs, and turned the page.

‘You should get your trousers cleaned.’

‘Mhm.’ 

‘There’s some mud or who knows what all over the ankles,’ Jim said.

‘I know,’ Morse said and nodded, without opening his eyes. ‘It’s raining outside.’

‘Yeah, I was outside too.’ 

The sound of rain against the windows was as busy as it had been since early morning. Knocking on doors to track down a possible sighting of a possible suspect based on a _possibly_ correct photograph with George Fancy (Jim) hadn’t been any more fun than instructing constables to look for a purse in the hedges east of central Oxford (Morse). Both of their coats and umbrellas were still soaking wet in the hall. 

Jim laid the magazine down with a a tired huff, and turned to lean over Morse. He laid a hand flat over his face, trying to gauge his temperature. Morse blinked against his touch, and let out a confused groan.

‘What are you doing?’

‘You’re a liar, Morse,’ Jim said, and frowned down at him, hand slipping down to his cheek, holding his face still. ‘Someone’s got to see to it, since you refuse to. Burning up like a furnace.’

‘Your hands are warm,’ Morse argued, but was silenced by Jim patting the side of his face and pushing him back down.

‘Your forehead’s warmer,’ he said. ‘And cold clammy cheeks don't really scream healthy either.’ He sat back up, and held Morse’s gaze seriously for a moment. 

Eventually Morse tilted his chin up in favour of a full shrug. ‘I should think I’ll be all right…’ He interrupted himself with a sneeze that never came, and turned into a yawn instead. ‘With a bit of rest.’

Jim gave him a doubtful look. ‘Try a lot,’ he said, but dropped the topic. 

‘You ever had paella?’ Jim went back to his magazine. ‘Found this while I was running errands. European dishes.’

‘No.’

‘Should we try some?’

‘I’ll leave that for you to decide.’

‘Come on.’ Jim sighed. He gave Morse a short look that was just as affectionate as it was frustrated. ‘Say something, or I’ll just buy you more toast, and it’ll be on you.’

Morse didn't look like he considered it a very bad threat. ‘Well, at least I know it isn’t pronounced like that. _ Paella_.’

Jim gave his legs a light swat with the magazine. ’Right, you bugger. Thanks for being such a help.’

‘We did just agree I’ve fallen terribly ill,’ Morse moaned, but his irony was dampened by another sneeze-turned-yawn. ‘Not my fault.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Jim said. ‘A good thing, too. Get some rest, and all that.’

**Author's Note:**

> yeah ange is right if you guys don't ship them you're cowards
> 
> there's plenty of room in my harbour to ship like literally everyone and this is one of the good vessels as opposed to my other crap canoes ok
> 
> i have more where this came from but this one was the only one so far that could stand alone, maybe i'll get more done at some point


End file.
